


A Little Faith

by JayOfSunight



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Airplane, First Kiss, M/M, booth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22808065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayOfSunight/pseuds/JayOfSunight
Summary: Pete hated this situation. He couldn't be stuck with Matt in the booth of a plane for God knows how long!
Relationships: Pete Dunne/Matt Riddle
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	A Little Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm back after, what? Two years? I'm a little rusted, but that won't stop me from writing!  
> As always, English isn't my mother tongue. I'm sorry if there are still some mistakes!

"Open that goddamn door!"

No answer came from the giggling manchild who called himself his tag-team partner. That compartment they were stuck in was way too small to fit both of them. Especially with Riddle fidgeting and stretching, laughing louder than necessary when his hand hit Dunne's face, his elbow hit his side.

"Matt, I'm not kidding. Open. That. Door."

"C'mon, chill, bro," Matt finally replied, "We're going to Portland!"

"We're not going there in the booth of a fucking plane!"

Matt wasn't fazed by his yelling. He laughed some more and echoed the word booth in that voice Pete hated enough times for him to want to rip his face off.

"Oh, my beautiful man, we are!" he said before remembering, "I can't open the door anyway."

"You what?"

"There's no handle, bro. We can't open it."

Pete sighed. His eyes were hurting from rolling to the back of his skull. He hated this situation, hated the size of their trophy. Above all, he hated his new tag-team partner, his jokes, his laugh, his ideas. Everything about him. He couldn't be stuck with him for God knows how long! Not in that dark, cramped place where he couldn't fit without hurting his arms, legs, or neck. He'd rather walk -no, crawl!- to Portland rather than spend one more second with this easy-going dumbass.

"Move," Dunne told him coldly, trying to reach for the door.

Riddle didn't move as there was no place to. Pete crawled above him, ready to punch his face and break his nose at the slightest complaint. He had to flex his body in a sharp angle, the trophy digging a mark on his thighs and knees, just to touch the door with a single digit. He propelled himself forward, but the door didn't budge.

"What the hell are you doing, bro?" Matt asked, still half-amused, but ready to grab Pete's arm if he punched the door again.

"Getting out," he grumbled before trying to force the door open once again.

Matt held into his arm. It was too dark to see, but the former MMA fighter felt a shiver running down his spine at the invisible death glare staring back at him. He held on as Pete tried wiggling out of his grip. Dunne rapidly drew frustrated. Riddle was holding him tight, and there wasn't enough room to break free efficiently. He pulled suddenly, forgetting they were trapped in a metal cage and hit the door with his elbow. The pain hit him like cold needles piercing their way to his brain. He swore before punching blindly at Riddle. He hit the trophy, which made him even angrier.

"Woah, woah, woah, bro. Calm down," Matt yelled, still grabbing his hand.

"I can't be stuck with you, stupid asshole!"

With a second blow hitting his shoulder, Matt was able to catch Dunne's other wrist.

"No need to panic, bro. Here, take some deep breaths."

"I'm not-"

Their attention shifted suddenly to the plane. The engine just started. Dunne mumbled a litany of no's, trying and failing to get out of Riddle's grip. The plane was taking off with them in the booth.

"We need to get out. Now!" he yelled at Riddle.

The American didn't seem bothered at all. He shrugged in the dark.

"Why? We're going to Portland, bro!"

"How are you even sure this plane's going to Portland?"

"I know who owns this jet. It's-"

"No, I don't want to-"

"-HHH's."

Pete took an instant to realize what he was implying. His rage turned into dread. He apprehended what was about to come once Hunter'd open the booth. He took a deep breath, lowered his head to massage his temple with his captured hand. It wasn't happening, right? It was all a nightmare. He was about to wake up without the damn trophy and without that damn asshole. He opened his eyes but didn't wake up in his bed.

"Know that I'll kill you before he does."

The plane had taken off with two secret passengers. Pete had just resigned himself at this point. They had found a somewhat pleasant way to sit not to break their spines. Matt was lying down, legs bent. Pete was sat legs resting on Riddle's stomach, feet to the door, back to the other side. Sure, they'd get to Portland, right before getting hammered into bits. He regretted leaving Europe, regretted this championship opportunity, and regretted being stuck with a dick who couldn't take a fucking clue when to leave people alone. He'd called him five times already. Fucking idiot.

"Pete!"

"What?" he snapped, his will to punch his face making a serious comeback.

"You're not mad at me, right?"

"Of course not! That's the best road trip ever. You, me, that trophy, stuck in a booth. Awesome."

"Oof, you got me worried there for a second, bro."

Pete rolled his eyes again. The sole idea of Matt's existence was too painful to grasp at that moment.

"I was sarcastic."

"Really? When?" he replied without losing a beat.

"I-"

_ Don't hit him. Don't hit him. Don't hit him. _

"Yes, I'm mad at you."

"Why, though?" he laughed, trying to punch his shoulder gently and only half missing.

Pete jerked his hands up. Where to begin? He then remembered Riddle couldn't see him, but still shook his head in disbelief.

"You rented a car without a license. You-"

"You didn't have yours either, so-"

"You wasted my time on a fucking boat, and above all," he marked a pause, several thoughts tangled in his mind as he looked down, "You lied to me, several times. So what, you don't trust me? You're going to betray me?"

Pete knew right after these words escaped his mouth that he should've shut himself. Sure, 2018 was far behind now. Still, the similarities were too uncanny. Another Dusty Rhodes Classic, another random tag-team partner. Riddle didn't look like an Undisputed Era guy, but neither did Strong before wearing that damned armband. Plus, Matt did have a taste for drama.

Pete didn't think the American knew what he was referring to, which memory had slashed its way to his mind, reopening a wound he thought forever healed. A silence so thick as to choke them grew within the booth. Pete remembered the past, drawing comparisons where there shouldn't be, growing weary of his partner, if he could even call him that.

"I just-" Matt whispered, his serious tone a sound Dunne would never get used to, "I didn't think you'd approve of, you know, my way of doing things."

"I drove without a license just because you told me to, and so did you! I didn't even know which way to drive!"

Matt burst out laughing. Pete could feel him spasm as he tried to stiffen his giggles.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," he admitted.

Pete was glad it was too dark to see the beginning of a smile on his face.

"Oh, wait-" Matt suddenly snapped, wiggling beneath Pete, hitting him once or twice.

That smile didn't last long. Soon a blinding light hit him in the eyes. Matt's phone on flashlight mode. The shadows painted by the light turned their faces into atrocious caricatures. Pete wanted to switch it off, make it less bright, at least, but Matt stopped him before he could reach his phone.

"Okay," the American spoke, closing his face to Pete's to look into his eyes, "Serious talk here."

"As if you ever could be serious."

"Thanks," he grinned, "Anyway, listen. I really like you and that beautiful face of yours."

Pete blinked several times in an attempt to feebly grasped the meaning of his words. Taken aback, no word escaped his mouth. His heartbeats rose, but who wouldn't have a rush of adrenaline upon hearing those words? The worst part was that he didn't feel awkward, but excited by such a revelation. Alright, Matt was a dumb asshole with more than one flaw, but he didn't have this much pure chaotic fun since that tournament.

"-I'd never betray you."

_ Shit. _ Riddle was still talking.

"You're a good bro, bro. Our team's awesome. You, me, our buddy over there. We're the best, and I mean it. You really think I'd hesitate between you and some fish? C'mon, bro, have a little faith here."

"Oh," was all Pete managed to utter.

_ Oh, I guess I could have a little faith. _

_ Oh, we are the best. _

_ Oh, that was all you meant by "liking" me. _

He was a fool, really. Riddle barely knew him. Those compliments were as hollow as his head. Meaningless sounds to fill the void of Pete's silence. Nothing more.

"I said something wrong, huh?" Matt's words came stifled to his ears. He had to refocus.

"Uh? No, nothing wrong."

"Alright, then."

He raised a hand to squeeze his shoulder. The mere touch sent a shiver to his spine, spreading in his head and lighting all his synapses at once. He had to refocus and stop imagining things.

"You're my best bro, bro!"

Oh, he wasn't helping. Not with these words or his hand resting on his shoulder, unable to break contact. His eyes looked into his, ready to spot his turmoil if he made it too obvious.

"Don't touch me," he asked under his breath.

Matt didn't oblige right away, letting his laugh out first.

"That's the bro I know and love!"

His? His bro? His bro that he-? He shook his head, tried to play the annoyed partner, but his heart wasn't in it. Said heart had grown butterfly wings that had spread out to fly away straight to a smoldering sun. He had to stop. He had to catch that damned heart, shove it back into its ice-cold cell.

"You aren't that bad either," the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them, before he realized what he had said, "I mean: sometimes. You still an asshole most of-"

"I know what you meant, bro," he teased with a wink.

"Can you not?" he almost choked, biting his cheek not to smile at the dumbass with hazy eyes.

"Sorry, it's hard to resist around you."

He looked at him up and down, winking again exaggeratedly as their eyes met.

"Don't make this trip more awkward than it has to be," he tried, looking away.

"You feel awkward?" he asked, leaning even closer, "Or something else? What do you feel when I look at you? When I say you're my favorite person to look at? The best partner I could've asked for?"

"You don't mean any of it," he whispered, mouth dry.

"I do, bro."

Matt's hand slithered its way up to his neck, massaging him at the base of his skull. He pulled him towards him, tilting his head but kept his gaze locked into Pete's. Dunne was deaf with his racing heartbeats. He closed his eyes, leaning forward, his breath itching his face.

Then, they were shaken around the booth as the wheels of the plane hit the road. They were landing, and Dunne suddenly remembered where they were. He pushed Riddle away as the American was still coming closer, gaze locked on the door. It would soon open, turning his fears into reality. He rushed towards the door, trying and failing to get it open. They had to get out, pretend this trip never happened. They had to get out before anyone knew, especially Hunter. Dunne wasn't an anxious guy, but it was getting hard to breathe in the enclosed space. Different scenarios played in his mind, each worse than the other. Mocked, fired, beat up, dread rose until Riddle's hand on him made him jump.

"Pete, bro, we should probably get out," he whispered.

He found out his will to punch Matt was stronger than his fear of being found out by their boss.

Footsteps on the other side of the door, drawing closer. No escape, they had to face their fears. The light shone through the gap, slowly opening up. Pete crawled back unconsciously, closer to Matt. His hand still on his shoulder, he reached behind him to feel Riddle's presence. Part of him knew the American would do more harm than good facing Hunter, but his presence was a reassurance he needed at this moment. HHH's hands appeared before them before they could see Portland Airport, a middle-aged man in shock blocking the view

"I can explain!" Pete said.

"I don't want to know, kid," he replied, having taken ten years in a second.

They got out one laughing, the other apologizing. The trophy wasn't too hard to get out, and both were rapidly leaving the airport to gain the hotel. Pete was looking at his phone when he bumped into Riddle, who had stopped in the middle of the hall.

"Wait, I forgot something," he said.

Pete was ready to insult him, ready to abandon him in the airport, to face Hunter and his dead-tired eyes. He couldn't keep going if he wanted to stay sane. He had to leave him there, like an abandoned puppy. It was the only way. He bypassed him, facing the end of the hall not to look at Riddle. He was quickly grabbed by the arm. Pete was ready to throw fists, before Matt's other hand found his neck to pull him up and close, to meet his lips with his in a crushing kiss which took Pete's breath away. It didn't last long. The English barely realized what was happening ready.

"Much better," he grinned as he pulled away.


End file.
